


Pain is Just a Simple Compromise

by Kawaiicoyote



Series: It's Better This Way [6]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Conflict, Confrontations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hopefully the ending makes up for the raging angst fest I've put you through in this one, Hurt feelings, M/M, Misunderstandings, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiicoyote/pseuds/Kawaiicoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ laughs and steps away from the desk, makes it two maybe three feet and abruptly freezes. He feels like the bottom of his stomach is free falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain is Just a Simple Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> surprise *flings confetti in air*  
> Okay hi yeah you all are probably livid with me for not updating in so long and I'm so sorry.. I've actually had this piece written for MONTHS but didn't know how everyone would feel about it.
> 
> To me it's out of place and there SHOULD be a filler between the last part and this part. But I've kind of hit a brick wall when it comes to this series (as you all might have noticed). I DO have another part in the process. I basically know what I want from it but I still feel like something is missing (and it would be a part BEFORE this one since it's such a drastic change).
> 
> But yes, I thought I would give you guys something since you've been so patient with me, you all are AWESOME.  
> And yes for once this is also beta'd (however roughly)
> 
> ALSO if anyone can figure out what song the title came from I would be greatly amused.

There is a reason Sties is never early to class. Or well the only reason he can think of is that being in an empty classroom has never ended well for him. And hey, he now can say he has a track record for that.

But on this day, a Monday of all days in the world, Stiles finds himself early to class. He finds himself alone, in Jennifer’s classroom, with nobody else around. It’s a bit unnerving that not even Jennifer is there yet to get ready for class.

And knowing Stiles, when he gets unnerved, which is very often, he gets restless. And when he gets restless he just _has_ to get up and move around to try and shake his nerves.

Getting up from his desk, Stiles decides that he’ll kill time by getting a drink of water from the fountain down the hall, and then kill a bit more time by taking a piss because he kind of maybe has to go and he’s bored anyway.

He’s passing Jennifer’s desk at the front of the room, on his merry way out the door, when something catches his eye.  And yes Stiles knows it’s inappropriate to be a “nosey Millie” to snoop through his teacher’s desk, but it’s not like he’s rucking through the damn thing, whatever it is that caught his eye is just lying there in plain view in the middle of her desk.

Casually Stiles takes a step closer, making sure that there isn’t a chance that he’ll be caught, and leans over the desk.

It’s clear that what he’s looking at is a magazine, its glossy pages and colorful fonts and lettering and cheery pictures smile up at him. Normally Stiles would really take no interest in what kind of magazines a teacher would leave out in the open but that niggling little voice of curiosity at the back of his mind has him tilting his head to get a better look and he blinks owlishly at the cover when it comes into focus.

 _Parents Magazine_ is boldly displayed across the cover with a cherubic looking toddler smiling underneath. _Jennifer Blake_ is on the white printed label in the corner, letting him know that she’s a regular subscriber.

Stiles’ laughs and steps away from the desk, makes it two maybe three feet and abruptly freezes. He feels like the bottom of his stomach is free falling.

Jennifer has a regular subscription to a magazine for parents, or hopeful parents, kind of a parents in training magazine is what that really is. All at once Stiles feels like he’s going to hurl his toaster strudel all over the dull linoleum floor. He clenches his jaw tight, because really he doesn’t want to see what regurgitated strawberry and cream cheese looks like.

But the queasy mind fucked feeling doesn’t subside. Especially since Stiles can’t get thoughts and images from popping into his mind. Jennifer and Derek having a baby, Jennifer actually being pregnant and glowing and complaining about swollen ankles, Derek doting on her hand and foot, Derek happy and smiling with a little bundle of joy that looks like half of him, Derek building back a family that he’s mostly lost and what he does have is shaky at best.

But most of all, Stiles sees Derek’s future and the space that’s reserved for himself is dwindling away with every second.

Stiles is jolted out of his thoughts when the door in front of him opens and, Speak of the Devil and s(he) shall appear oh the wise words of Bane, Jennifer bustles though the door.

She jumps a little, because she obviously isn’t expecting, God he really hates that words all of a sudden, anyone to be in class so early.

“Stiles,” Jennifer breathes, with her hand and a stack of papers clutched to her chest, “so eager for class?”

He tries his best to laugh with her but he knows it sounds tinny and his face feels tight, all of it feels off and he just hopes that she doesn’t catch on to it.

“Oh you know me, ready to learn, fill my noggin with brand new information and all that jazz,” he laughs and tries to relax because now is not the time to give himself away for snooping and then have the theoretical beans spilled and Stiles just really doesn’t want to have to congratulate Jennifer. Because he would be lying through his teeth, and then Derek probably really would rip out his throat with _his_ teeth for not being happy and excited for them. Fuck his fucking fucked up fuck of a life.

Jennifer’s smile falters a bit but her expression is still warm, _maternal_ even dare he say, as she steps around him and goes to her desk. Stiles turns in time to see her set the stack of papers down directly over the magazine without even looking.

“What there something you needed?” She asks him distractedly while settling into her desk chair and boots up her computer.

Stiles stands there still rooted in the same spot and flounders. “Uh…,” he so eloquently says then snaps his mouth shut and shrugs. Jennifer turns to him with a quirked eyebrow and opens her mouth to say something. But luckily he’s saved by the morning bell ringing through the room which results in the floodgate of students and noise spilling into the school, so he retreats to his desk and sinks down in it and for once has never been so grateful for a class to be started.

At lunch Stiles still can’t get it out of his head. Around him his friends are in different conversations and don’t seem to notice his silence. All of their conversations are about things like prom, and lacrosse, whether or not Cora will be coming back to actual school, things that he can’t really focus on when it’s quite a possibility that their English teacher is knocked up by the resident alpha. Stiles begins to feel a little queasy again and chugs down half of his water.

Halfway through the lunch period, another thought hits him. He wonders how far along Jennifer would be anyway. She’s still thin and striking and while she’s not rain thin and has some curves to her, her stomach doesn’t give anything away. So it makes him wonder if there could be another way to find out.

Stiles takes another drink of water, his gaze flits to the werewolves residing at his table. And that right there makes him pause. With their super wolfy senses, in theory, they could tell if Jennifer smells odd or if something isn’t right with her. It makes him pause again and grip his water bottle tighter because, dose he really want to stick his nose into this and twist the proverbial knife that much deeper?

When the dismissal bell rings he resolves that yes, he does want to find out. For science if he’s really trying to convince himself for a good reason. And because best to deal like this like a band aid, rip it off fast and deal with the pain afterwards as best as possible.

That afternoon Stiles finds himself on the bench during lacrosse practice and figures that since Isaac is living with Derek and all then that’ll be his best bet in finding out. Better than cornering Jennifer and giving her an ultimatum of either answering him and/or shoving a pee stick at her.

So really, having Isaac do his dirty work is a lot better. Less of a chance of Derek getting wind of his snooping, thus more of a chance of his throat staying intact.

Subtly, Stiles slides himself across the metal bench and tries not to be noticed. He keeps his eyes towards the field and watches, and winces, when Scott body checks Greenberg hard enough to send him flying and toppling into the net and consequently into Danny. They both drop like a rock and the next few minutes lead to Coach nearly swallowing his whistle in a fit of rage.

 Stiles takes this as his opportunity to pounce like the stealthy stealth person of, well, stealth that he is.

  
“So,” Stiles drawls and leans into Isaac’s personal space. The beta tears his eyes away from the scene on the field and jerks back a bit, obviously surprised at how close Stiles is, and raises his eyebrows in question. “Miss Blake, she hasn’t smelled _odd_ recently has she?”

Isaac’s face scrunches up in confusion. Stiles waits as patiently as he can for the replay.

“She changed deodorants,” he supplies slowly like he’s been asked a trick question. Stiles kind of wishes he’d gone to Boyd or Cora, or Peter. Wait no scratch that, Peter would be a sassy bitch to him and completely avoid answering. Or worse, would tell him to just go _talk_ to Jennifer. Which will be the very last thing, aside from talking to Peter that is, that he’ll do.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, does her _scent_ smell any different? You can tell when someone’s scent changes right?” Isaac nods, though he still looks completely confused. “So has it?”

“She smells like Derek more, if that’s what you mean.”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek and takes a very long, calming, therapeutic breath. Sometimes Isaac can be just as thick headed as Scott, so he waves him off and scoots back to the other end of the bench and slouches down, resigning himself to watching the catastrophe that’s still happening on the field. Isaac in turn stares at him in confusion before he too goes back to watching the others until he’s called in to practice to replace Greenburg.

The thought ends up consuming Stiles thoughts, every waking minute of them.  When he’s around the pack he wonders if they’re really keeping things from him because Derek and Jennifer told them to, or if there’s really nothing to tell.

It’s the not knowing that’s raising his blood pressure.

Over the next few days he finds himself practically gnawing his pen in half, with his eyes glued to Jennifer’s midsection.  None too subtly might he add. It gets to the point where Scott one morning reaches over and flicks Stiles on the ear to get his attention, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Stiles gives him a flat look and waves him off and, this time more discreetly, goes back to seeing if Jennifer’s dress hugs her too tight or is even overly loose on her frame.

It’s at lunch when Scott and the others pounce on him like, well, a pack of wolves. Stiles has a mouth full of his sandwich when he realizes the rest of the table is eerily quiet, and not just because he’s not talking himself.

He gulps when they exchange looks.

“Why are you being so weird?” Lydia is the first one to ask the question they all want to ask. He sinks down into his chair with a groan, wishing like anything he was anywhere else.

Lydia levels a look at him and he squirms, forgoing an actual answer to instead shrug and shove more of his ham and cheese into his face, enough of it to pooch out his cheeks like a chipmunk. The action makes Lydia’s left eye twitch and oh boy is he fucked.

Scott is the one who gives a soft punch to his shoulder and turns maximum puppy eyes onto him. Scott is a horrible excuse for a best friend.

“What’s got you paying so much attention to Jennifer?” Scott asks, his voice lowered.

“And her scent,” Isaac interjects. Stiles swears the whole pack actually leans in with curiosity, even Boyd looks mildly curious.

He feels trapped and cornered, it makes him feel vaguely like prey and really isn’t something that he’d rather not feel, right.

“It’s nothing,” he snaps maybe a little too quickly and even _he_ can feel the uptick of his pulse. It makes him want to bang his head down against the table.

Across from him Isaac leans over the table a little, putting himself closer to Stiles. He looks worried and a little crease forms between his brows. “Is she sick?”

Stiles jerks back a little dumbfounded as he tries to find his voice. “What?”

Now instead of fully concerned, looks frustrated. “Is Jennifer sick? That’s why you want to know about her scent, right?” The others all now look concerned and glance towards the other side of the cafeteria towards the faculty table; it’s a rare day where Jennifer is actually sitting in the cafeteria instead of her classroom.

She must sense eyes on her because she stops mid-chew of her salad and looks right at their table. Visibly she startles, a tiny frown tugging at her mouth before it morphs into a hint of a confused smile and then gives a wave to them.

Isaac, bless him, is the only one to wave back before they all turn their attention back to Stiles.

He lets out a long breath and slinks down further into his chair. “Look it could be nothing. But either way it’s not something you guys need to worry about.”

“You’re worrying about it though,” this time it’s Allison who speaks up. He glares daggers at her and she doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.  

“Does it have something to do with Derek?”

Stiles freezes and his eyes snap to Lydia whose gaze is all too calculating and sharp. Oh fuck his life in the ass, the woman is too smart.

Beside him Scott is practically radiating with confusion. Stiles is pretty sure if he leans in and listens very carefully he could probably hear the rusty gears beginning to turn. But really, that’s the _last_ thing he wants in this situation.

“But how would Jennifer’s scent changing have anything to do with him?”

By some stroke of fate the lunch bell rings, dismissing them to their next class and Stile bolts up from his chair with enough force that it clatters loudly behind him.

“Well that was fun but oh lookey there I gotta get to class,” Stiles says in a rush and practically runs from the table, like the fires of hell are licking at his heels, without up righting his fallen chair, leaving a group of very confused teenagers behind.

It’s all getting to be ridiculous, or crazy, or even insane. Because when he reaches his breaking point and ends up skipping lacrosse practice and finds himself marching determinedly to Jennifer’s classroom that afternoon he _knows_ it’s not the sanest or smartest thing to do.

The door is mostly closed but still open a few inches, to him that’s really a universal signal that he can waltz right in. Or it at least it should be the universal signal, like the Bat Signal, only for doors.

What he expects is Jennifer to be grading papers or what may have you. But what he doesn’t expect to see Derek in a pair of worn, soft looking jeans and a light green polo shirt, his leather jacket is nowhere to be seen, and most importantly standing in front of Jennifer with his hands on her waist and her sitting on the edge of her desk. The sight makes Stiles chest constrict and wish he never skipped practice.

Jennifer freezes, her spine becoming rigid where she sits balanced on the edge of her desk. Derek though, he drops his hands quickly like a child who has been caught sneaking cookies from the cookie jar and takes a step back and folds his arms over his chest.

“What are you doing here?” The words just tumble out of Stiles mouth and he just really can’t help himself. Derek frowns at that and gives a shrug, back to his old ways of not using his words. It almost makes Stiles want to roll his eyes, until his attention is caught by Jennifer who slips down from her perch and smoothes down the front of her dress and clears her throat.

“Derek and I happen to be going out tonight and he offered to pick me up after work.” The look on Jennifer’s face lets him know that she’s trying her hardest not to be snarky or rub it in his face that she and Derek are going out on a date but it still makes Stiles feel like there’s a fist squeezing his heart. She shifts and leans against her desk, still looking apologetic and guilty, Stiles doesn’t even glance in Derek’s direction, not yet anyway. “Is there something I can do for you?”

He knows she’s trying to rush him out the door while doing it as painlessly as possible. Because Jennifer really is a nice woman and sweet and understanding and has a nice smile and has gotten Derek to open up and is possibly carrying the next generation of the Hale line in her womb. Stiles suddenly feels a little queasy and his eyes automatically go down to Jennifer’s stomach. The dress clings in a way that could insinuate that she’s starting to get a baby bump but could also just be a really bad cut of dress for her.

When he looks back up she’s looking at him expectantly, her body angled towards Derek who hasn’t moved a muscle. In the back of his mind Stiles is conjured with the thought of Derek treating him like a T-Rex, if he doesn’t move then Stiles won’t be able to see him and he’ll be safe.

“Are you pregnant?” Stiles blurts abruptly, startling even himself.

Derek’s eyes go wide, like abnormally wide, and his skin drains of all color. Except maybe green, yeah he definitely looks a little green around the gills, but his eyes that were on Stiles snap to Jennifer. Stiles can even see him discreetly scenting the air to see for himself and Stiles has to look away from him to Jennifer.

Her face is a bright cherry red and her brows are knit in confusion.

“What?” She asks, a little breathlessly and kind of scandalized. Stiles can’t blame her. It’s none of his business and more importantly, he doesn’t want to know. So before he knows it he’s inching his way back to the door.

“Stiles,” it’s surprisingly Derek who says his name. And, and Stiles can’t do this. He just can’t.

He’s shaking his head and backing up even more until his back collides with the closed door with a hard _thump_.

“I’m sorry, never mind, I gotta go,” Stiles breathes as his fingers scrabble for the door. And then he’s fleeing down the hall as fast as his legs can carry him. His chest is on fire and his eyes are burning and his throat is tight but he keeps going, ignoring the sound of the door slamming open behind him and voices calling his name. He ignores them both until he’s safe in his jeep and peeling out of the parking lot.

Stiles drives and drives and drives. He drives through the town aimlessly for seems like hours, which really is only probably just over an hour, until he’s reached the Beacon Hills city limits and spots a diner that isn’t busy and pulls in. He doesn’t want to waste anymore of his gas anyway because that shit is _expensive_ and he hasn’t figured out how to convert his jeep into taking cooking oil as fuel yet.

There’s a bell above the door that chimes happily when he walks in, a couple of people behind the counter and from the cooks line call out a greeting that he halfheartedly returns and ambles his way to one of the booths that’s furthest away from the door and plops down.

He’s barely settled into the booth when a coffee mug is set in front of him with an audible clank. Stiles jolts and looks up to see who he assumes is his waiter pouring coffee into the mug while simultaneously setting a small bowl with individual creamers beside it onto the table.

“I didn’t order coffee,” is the first thing his dumbfounded self can manage to say and the guy, a quick glance to his nametag reads _Spencer_ tilts his head and laughs. The sound is too loud but thoroughly amused and Stiles decides he likes it, it’s kind of high and airy and wow he’s distracted because now the waiter is looking at him, round face full of amusement and brown eyes gleaming, like he knows exactly what Stiles is thinking.

The guy shrugs his should and lets the coffee pot dangle from his hand, letting the coffee inside come precariously close to spilling out. “You looked like you could use some coffee is all.”

“Oh, thanks yeah I could actually use some.”

“Thought so,” The waiter is really too smug and it makes Stiles want to sass back at him or something but instead he just reaches into the miniature bowl and fishes out two creamers and waits for the guy to go away.

Thankfully he gets the hint and out of the corner of his eye he can see him walking away. When he’s a safe distance away Stiles allows himself to get a better look at him. He looks like he’s several inches shorter than Stiles, and thin but not lanky like himself or athletic like Jackson. For the first time Stiles notices that he’s a redhead, but not the light ginger like Lydia, more like a deep auburn that’s almost brown. Stiles decides that he likes it and then like he can sense eyes on him Spence looks up and directly at him and grins.

Oh how Stiles wishes the floor would just open up and swallow him whole, but of course that doesn’t happen, so he settles for slouching down into the booth and busies himself by fixing his cup of coffee that will probably end up  being more sweetener than actual coffee but whatever.

It’s quiet in the diner, he notices, with classic rock playing softly. Not loud enough to be coming from speakers overhead, so Stiles assumes that someone has a radio on in the cooks line or further back in the kitchen. Whoever is playing it Stiles decides that they have good taste in music and wishes that they would play it louder.

He sits like that for hours, the sun slowly slipping down in the sky which turns from blue to gold to pink to inky blue. Periodically Spencer comes by his table and pours more coffee, lends more smiles that seem a little friendlier than just polite server etiquette, and at one point a plate of piping hot French fries slides in front of him.

Again the server just shrugs and waves off his protests and promises to give him a discount since he didn’t order them.

They’re hot and fresh and perfectly seasoned and don’t need any ketchup at all. Stiles doesn’t even care that they’re not curly fries. He freaking devours them like a starving man.

It isn’t until he’s halfway through with his plate of fries when the door opens and the bell above it rings and Stiles glances up and completely freezes when he sees Derek.

Everything comes rushing back to him and it makes the greasy fries he’s eaten turn on his stomach a bit. So he pushes the plate to the side and idly sips at the ice water that had appeared at his elbow sometime after his plate of starchy goodness had arrived.

Derek slides into the booth opposite of him and pops a fry into his mouth with no qualms and chews slowly like he’s still trying to find the right words to say.

“It’d be nice if you kept your phone on you,” he finally says after he’s eaten two more fries. Stiles feels the beginnings of guilt creep up on him because of course in his haste to escape he wouldn’t realize that he’s forgotten his phone in his jeep.

“Sorry,” he mutters and takes another sip of his water, grateful that its coolness subsides the uneasy churning in his gut. “How’d you find me anyway?”

Derek actually snorts and pops another fry into his mouth. “I drove around until I found you.”

“Oh.”

The silence falls between them, heavy and uneasy and it makes them both shift uncomfortably in their seats. Stiles can feel the question before Derek even opens his mouth and mentally braces for critical impact.

“Want to tell me what all that was about at school?” Derek asks slowly, proceeding with caution. The mental image of him with a bright neon safety vest and hard hat while holding a comically large _caution_ sign fills Stiles head and he laughs quietly to himself.

He feels uncomfortable talking about this to Derek. Hates that he acted the way he did and ran away without any explanation. He really just wishes they could all brush this whole fiasco under the rug and laugh about it. Except nobody is laughing and Derek really looks worried and kind of angry, but then again that’s usually his default expression.

Stiles rubs the back of his neck and sinks down further into the booth, only to shoot straight back up with his knees knock against Derek’s underneath the table.

“I saw her magazine on the desk,” he mutters looking anywhere but the alpha across from him. When the silence stretches out between them, heavy and uncomfortable, he finally glances up at Derek who has a look of complete an utter confusion written across his face, it’s obvious he’s waiting for him to elaborate.

He’s thankfully spared a few moments to answer when another coffee mug is slid onto the tabletop and in front of Derek, who grunts in thanks but is solely focused on hearing Stiles answer.

With no more distraction, since Spencer didn’t stick around to see if the surly looking brute in front of him wanted to order anything to eat, there’s no more biding his time. Mentally Stiles braces himself.

“Parents magazine,” Stiles blurts out under the scrutiny of Derek’s unwavering gaze. Neither of them break eye contact but Derek’s eyes shoot up towards his hair line. “That’s why I asked. I saw it and it’s been bugging the ever loving shit out of me. I mean, congratulations if she is dude, don’t get me wrong,” he cringes because he doesn’t necessarily mean it and it just trying to save his ass from a beat down. “And if she’s not then I’m sorry? I mean, if you’re trying or whatever good for you I just… I don’t…”

Stiles trails off when he notices that Derek is just staring blankly at him. Well that can’t be good. There is no way he can even begin to interpret that look as being good. His stomach begins to feel sour, churning angrily when the silence once again lulls between the two of them, in a way that makes him feel like his coffee and french-fry combination might be making an encore presentation if something doesn’t ease the tension.

Derek lets out a long suffering sigh and Stiles takes a tentative sip of his water, Derek’s coffee has gone untouched, or unnoticed Stiles can’t tell, and is no longer giving off wisps of steam.

“She isn’t pregnant,” and there it is, a sudden weight lifted off of Stiles shoulders and the constriction in his chest unfurls just a little. The amount of relief he’s feeling must show, or Derek must be able to sense it, because the alpha levels him with an odd look, equipped with a salsa dance of movement from his predominant eyebrows, but doesn’t comment on it. Stiles straightens in his seat and tries to look and feel blank as possible, nonchalant. He knows he’s failing miserably.

Derek, by the looks of it, raises his mug to give him something to do and Stiles reigns in his laugh when he grimaces at the cool black liquid. The mug clanks against the table and Stiles absently pushes his still hot coffee halfway across the table to him, which earns him another undecipherable look but the offer is accepted. Derek still cringes at it, probably too much sugar, but continues to sip at it. Better hot overly sweet coffee than cold coffee.

Stiles knows when Derek is stalling for time and this is definitely one of those times.

“We haven’t talked much about kids,” the way Derek says it makes him sound reluctant to say anything about the subject. Like it might even cause him physical pain to have this conversation that they both know needs to happen. He barrels right on, not letting the silence consume them again or leave any opportunity to chicken out. “She’s made passing comments about how her students are her children and that’s good enough for the moment. And I know things are more stable than they’ve been in a while, but you know our relationship is still new and we’re not at that level just yet to discuss offspring seriously.”

Stiles licks his lips and drags his index finger through the condensation on his glass of water, giving Derek a smile that he knows is too tight and forced but tries anyway. He even tries to laugh as he says, “Lydia will be so disappointed that she can’t start breaking out the color swatches for a posh nursery or whatever.”

And there go the eyebrows again, boogying away in a complex number while his actual eyes bore holes straight through him. It’s enough to put him on edge.

“So, then why all the baby mags?” Stiles is a glutton for pain obviously, though his track record alone could have told him that.

Derek’s looking out the window now, his hand still curled around his mug and gives him a half shrug. “Her mother bought her a subscription as a less than subtle hint and she grabbed it in a hurry and forgot about it.”

He doesn’t buy it. Well, Stiles buys some of it, but not all of it. And the fact that the O’ Mighty Alpha isn’t looking at him anymore stirs a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to start a family with her,” the words are out of his mouth before any sort of filter can catch and reel them back into his mind where they were apparently lurking.

Derek jolts, the action jostling his arm and sending some of the lukewarm coffee to slosh out onto his hand and dribble down onto the table. They both ignore it, Stiles eyes never leaving Derek’s, a silent challenge.

The longer they stare at each other the harder Stiles heart is jackrabbiting around in his rib cage. In the back of his mind he muses that if he were to look down he bet he could see the organ visibly pressing out against his skin like you would see in some come of cheesy science fiction movie, he would know, but he determinedly holds his ground and his gaze.

He knows Derek can hear his distress, can sense his anxiety and unease. But Derek stays silent.

The corner of his mouth quirk down and Stiles stomach sinks, he hasn’t even said anything and he already knows he’s lost the battle.

“I can’t do that,” Derek whispers and looks down, breaking the stare down. The man before him, the alpha, looks confused and guilty and sad.

Stiles must make a distressed noise, but he can’t exactly hear it over the rushing pound of his pulse in his ears but instantly Derek’s eyes are holding his again.

“I can’t tell you I don’t want a family with her, but I can’t tell you I do want one either, Stiles,” Derek clarifies but the guilty look that hasn’t left his face tells him all he needs to know. That he’s thought about it before and wouldn’t be against it if the actual opportunity presented itself.

The lump that forms in Stiles throat feels like it’s going to suffocate him. He coughs to try and dislodge it then shakily reaches and raises his glass of water to his lips and takes a long drink of it until most of the tight burning is soothed and loosened with the coolness.

“Okay,” Stiles has no idea what he’s saying okay to. Because this, this right here, is not okay on any level.

He looks up and Derek looks more confused than anything, and then looks alarmed when Stiles stands up and pulls out his wallet and throws probably more money than his ticket is unto the tabletop.

“Stiles,” Derek says, looking panicked and tense, a whine of distress that is more wolf than human spilling from his lips and all at once that heavy constriction is back full force in Stiles chest.

He shakes his head and bites the inside of his cheek to keep his lower lip from trembling. He pauses and takes one more look at Derek, drinking in his features, that stupid stubble he’s let grow out again, how his magnificent eyebrows are risen and furrowed together, he looks at his eyes last gives himself one last selfish agonizing luxury of memorizing the deep forest green with flecks of brown and blue.

“I want you to be happy Derek,” Stiles whispers, his voice cracking in the end and the corner of his mouth tipping up in a twitchy half-smile, like not all the muscles in his face want to cooperate. “You have no idea what it means to me for you to be happy,” he sets his jaw and swallows hard, “but now it’s time for me to find my happiness. Without you.”

He takes two full steps away from the table when Derek’s voice reels him back in, ruining any chance he might have had for a dramatic exit from the diner like you would expect in the movies where the heroine rushes out and rides off into the sunset feeling rejuvenated and inspired to start anew. But Stiles is no heroine and can only feel the acute splintering of his heart. There’s nothing about this that leaves him feeling rejuvenated.

“Where is this coming from Stiles?” Derek asks sounding absolutely lost, bordering desperate like he’s grasping at sand that’s slipping through his fingers, trying to figure out the missing puzzle pieces that are practically written out in the sky for him.

Stiles gives him a sad smile and shakes his head, “If you don’t know the answer to that by now, then maybe it’s better this way.”

He turns then, taking long strides away from the table and away from Derek. On his way to the door he catches Spencer in the corner of his eye trying to be subtle about possibly eavesdropping but ignores it and the guy and focuses on getting his ass out the door and to his jeep as quick as possible without outright running.

It isn’t until he’s speeding down the street, which really, Stiles speeding while upset hasn’t ended well in the past, but he keeps going and going, no direction on where the hell he’s headed and doesn’t really care that he’s wasting all the fuel in his jeep.

 The sun has long set when Stiles tiredly pulls into the driveway of his house, his phone is beeping at him with low battery warning and voice mail and text message alerts from everyone, except Derek which he doesn’t know if he’s grateful for or disappointed with.

But either way as he treks his way up the front porch and lets himself in, he feels different. It’s not exactly good or bad, he can’t pinpoint exactly what it is.

His dad is surprisingly home ,something he didn’t notice at first, and is sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, the healthy kind that’s unsalted and that his dad sprinkles powered cheese stuff onto anyway but Stiles lets slide because it’s not _that_ bad, the television is loud and blaring a football game.

John is obviously startled when Stiles plops down onto the couch next to him, toes off his converse before kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, and grabs a handful of popcorn and starts to watch the game with him.

He says nothing and Stiles says nothing and they fall into a companionable silence until they both start shouting at bad calls from the refs or stupid plays that their team makes.

They haven’t done this in a long while, so long that Stiles has forgotten which team they usually cheer for. But it’s nice and it feels normal, and normal is something rare and precious in the world he finds himself in most days.

When the inevitable commercial break comes, John rests his arm across the back of the couch and cuffs the back of Stiles neck, something that is as normal a gesture between the two of them as it is breathing. “You okay kiddo?”

Stiles pauses and thinks for a minute. He’s still hurting and upset, but he’s actually not totally devastated or anywhere near as upset as he was hours ago. So he nods and gives his dad a genuine grin. “Yeah, not all the way but I will be.”

Satisfied with the answer John retracts his arm and gathers up the empty popcorn bowl and his empty beer can and rises from the couch and heads in the direction of the kitchen.

“Want anything?” He calls over his shoulder, Stiles can hear him putting another bag of popcorn into the microwave.

“A beer would be great!” Stiles calls back, face splitting into a grin as he digs his phone out of his pocket and starts to scroll down his missed calls and texts.

Something drops in the kitchen and thuds onto the counter, “ _Stiles…_ ”

The exasperation in his voice sends him into a snickering fit. So he cut him some slack, “More popcorn would be fine.”

With that matter settled he turns his focus back to his phone. There are worried messages mostly from Scott, a few from Isaac, one from Lydia that he will definitely need to return before he heads to bed. But when his dad reappears a few moments later he stuffs his phone in between the couch cushions where it will most likely end up dying before the end of the game and accepts an ice cold bottle of root beer that’s waved in front of his face with a laugh.

“You said beer, you just didn’t say what kind,” John has a smug grin on his lined face and Stiles shakes his head and sinks down into the cushions.

Scott and Isaac can wait.

Lydia can wait, though he admits not for long.

Werewolves and his love life and Derek and just _everything_ can wait.

Because right then he’s where he should be and nothing else seems as important as spending time with his dad.

Yeah, for now, it is better this way.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so was it worth the YEAR wait? *twiddles thumbs* I hope so.  
> I'm also up for suggestion with what everyone things should have happened before this bit, I may look into it a little more.  
> Kudos and comments make my world go round.


End file.
